or… Tales of a 30 year old Nothing.

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In a garden overflowing in abundance of colorful fruits and blooming flowers, Barack Obama sits crossed-legged and naked, deep in meditation. A doe walks past him, unperturbed. A butterfly lands on his forehead, kisses him, and flutters off.

Barack blesses the creature before returning to his internal struggle. There is an emotional war waging inside of him as he attempts to process his pain and anger. Not only the pain and anger of the current president slowly dismantling his life’s work but also pain at the state of the human race.

Teach them to breathe. Teach them to speak. Teach them to love.

They all want to scream and fight and shoot guns.

But there is hope for them.

No, there isn’t.

There is. The coasts are rising up. The Rebels are sparking flames. People are waking up. Someone just needs to give them voice.

He looks deep inside of himself and tries to understand Donald Trump. How does this man work? What motivates him?

His eyes are closed. He breathes deeply. He feels his core energy leave the physical realm and transcend to the Upper Realm. In the Upper Realm he looks around. It’s beautiful here. An ocean of calm. His senses have been removed. His ego has been replaced. All that exists are his thoughts. Like an arrow, they follow a very intentional path. He does not allow them to wander.

He pulls Donald’s essence to mind and reaches through the Upper Realm, seeking him out. There. He pulls him close and finds Donald’s true form. He sheds away Donald’s ego. His sharp words. His insults. His bombastic personality. His smug demeanor. He keeps digging. Peeling away. He strips back the macho peacocking and the objectification of women. He pulls back the need to be right and to have the last word. He peels back more layers, exposing him, leaving him naked and cold.

Where are you? Barack thinks to himself. What is the true Donald?

He peels back layers past mocking the handicapped and name-calling world leaders. He pulls back the need to respond quickly instead of smartly. He pulls back his strange haircut. He pulls back his skin. He pulls back his short finger complex. He pulls back his inhuman sneer. And underneath all of it, what does he find?

What is this?

Floating in The Pool of the Collective Conscious, he finds something very interesting indeed. He finds the truth. He stands above Donald, gazing down on him. He stands in the center of an auditorium. Everyone despises him. Barack feels the hatred the world casts at him. He feels the fear that Donald fears. He feels the missing love of an unloved child. He feels Donald’s need for approval. He feels Donald’s need for acceptance. He feels Donald’s need for validation. He begins to understand him more.

And then.

A horrific and striking revelation. The psychic floor drops out and Barack is thrown through a multi-dimensional maelstrom. His Energy Bubble is blown from his body and rocketed sideways through reality by the cosmic winds. His mind expands and contracts, breaking and changing his neurological pathways. His frontal lobe swells and bursts, splitting in two. His brain evolves 10,000 years in a matter of moments. His gray matter squeezes against the inside of his cranium and he screams out in pain.

But it’s a pain that he knows he must bear.

This is his place. This is his role. A leader never truly retires.

Barack opens his eyes, snapping out of his meditative trance.

Michelle has just approached. She has tea and a Three Musketeers candy bar. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Your head is three times the size it was when I saw you last.”

He reaches up and touches his tender skull. It is indeed engorged.

“Donald Trump is an alien from another dimension. He wants to take control of our planet and rule it as god. I’ve been thrown through a multi-dimensional maelstrom and have gained the greatest understanding of mankind known to any living creature.”

Michelle nods, “Okay. Well, you know I support you in all of your activities. How can I help?”

Obama exhales deeply. He was hoping it wasn’t going to come to this.

“We need to assemble.”

Michelle begins to stand up, to take the next steps. She knew what it meant. Barack reaches up and grabs her thigh. Her… upper thigh. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Why don’t you sit down? Let’s enjoy this tea and chocolate. Who knows how long we have left?”

She smiles at him, sits down and curls her head into his lap. She loved this man. He would do whatever was needed to save the people. He was a good man. He was a hero. He saw the people and he wanted to help them.